Lady Life and Sir Death
by whirlwind94
Summary: He wishes only to wallow away in his misery, but this new lively person- this strange dancing, otherworldly girl- will not let him be. Meg/Erik The only reason it's rated T is because it's somewhat serious, but there is no cursing or strong sensuality.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Author's note: This story is set in the Leroux universe, after Christine left, supposing that Erik hasn't died yet. However, Meg Giry follows the Andrew Lloyd Weber movie/musical look- blonde hair, blue eyes. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: As always, Leroux created the Phantom, while ALW created the appearance of this Meg.**

She looked at herself in the mirror from every angle.

Then she leaned in to inspect her face. Her lips were painted red- dark red, but strangely and vividly bright- her eyes were the same blue that they always were, but now outlined in bold black which changed them, and made them brilliant against her fair skin. Meg stepped away from the mirror and turned to see herself from the back. Her hair rippled down in loose ringlets, finally singed with curls after hours of being twined around the theater's curling iron. The curling iron wasn't the only thing she borrowed from backstage. Her blonde hair was now a dark red, a glowing auburn, courtesy of the makeup and costume room. The dye would wash out after one bath- most of the actresses used it for one night, so that they could be ready for another role the next day.

However, she did not steal the gown she wore. It was her own, though she had re-dyed the fading yellow and trimmed it with various scraps from backstage. How she had labored over the ball gown, and now it was exquisite.

The dress was a dark forest green, dotted with purple flowers that curled around the hem and waist on paler green vines. There was a subdued luster of the silver trimming that laced at her wrists and striped down her bodice in pearly gray braids. With silver-gloved fingers, Meg lifted the mask to her face. Her forehead and cheeks were covered, obscured by the silky, silver and green colored material. There was a purple feather blossoming off of the center of her forehead which was tinted blood-red at the tip, at the very edge where it swayed slightly above her head.

As she tied the ribbon to attach the mask, her critical gaze swept once more over the figure in the mirror. Meg was now unrecognizable. She sighed and realized that she was pleased- not just satisfied, but actually pleased- by the striking image who peered back at her.

Clutching a flickering oil lamp, she crept past her sleeping mother's bedroom and tiptoed by the ballet dormitories, ignoring the soft snores that escaped the room. She hurried down, illuminating the dark corridors, further and deeper below the Opera house. Meg's eyes were bright with excitement and her heart thudded in nervous anticipation, bringing a blush to her cheeks.

She was careful to avoid the traps Erik had set up as she descended into the heart of the opera house…five cellars down. Meg let herself slip into her character as she walked along the passages. She set the lamp on the bank, and it flickered uncertainly for a moment, then burned steadily. It would help guide her back. She crossed the lake in the boat which was left on her side of the lake, which Meg would have found slightly disturbing, realizing that Erik hadn't had anyone see him since Christine left. But the woman who she let take hold of her was unconcerned. That would only make her presence more appreciated- even Death must be lonely for company.

Vivienne stepped out of the boat, and strode decisively to the door of the house on the lake. Where Meg's hand would have faltered, Vivienne's hand knocked smartly on the door.

**Another Author's note: This chapter is short, the next one will be short, and the third chapter is the shortest one of them all…That's just how this fic will be, sorry.**

**Reviews are much appreciated- they are the sunshine in my dark underground home.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: As always, Leroux created the Phantom, while ALW created the appearance of this Meg.**

Author's note: Just to make things clear, This is NOT a Mary Sue. Vivienne is an…alter ego of sorts, a character for Meg to play at, someone bolder than her, daring and beautiful, who she can pretend to be. She and Meg are the same person.

When no one answered in the first few minutes, Vivienne called out in a huskier voice that felt unfamiliar in Meg's throat.

"Come now. Even you cannot refuse me, Monsieur! I am not one to be ignored."

She did not speak threateningly, but in a teasing, gay manner. However, her tone changed when there was still no response.

"Monsieur, if I must, I will do my best to break down the do-"

And it opened. A gaunt, masked silhouette stood there. Staring at her. She dropped in a curtsey to the shadow, placing her hand in his before he could take it in the formal gesture. He did not hesitate, but bowed low over her silvery fingers, not touching them with his lips.

"May I come in?" she asked, lifting her skirts over her ankles and sweeping in past him. Vivienne turned to smile at him, her eyes shining with a sweetness he could not- and did not care to- name.

She moved into the Louis-Philippe room, as it was the closest to a parlour as any of the rooms, and he followed her noiselessly, barely aware of the sweet fragrance of flowers she was trailing through his home- his tomb. Vivienne turned to face him, once they were both in the room. He gestured for her to sit, but she shook her head with a soft smile.

His cold eyes were on her, taking in the radiant vibrancy that she glowed with. She was staring back at him, noting that his clothes were hanging loose on his starved, skeletal body. He was indeed Death. At last he spoke.

"Your name?"

"Lady Vivienne- the Lively One, monsieur."

"What do you want, Madame?"

"It's Mademoiselle" she whispered, then lifted her chin with a daring she found in her new character. "Life is but a child- she must never marry! For then she wouldn't be able to play at her youthful games, frolic or romp in the meadows- Any fool knows that, monsieur!"

When he was silent again, watching her through his full-faced mask with unblinking eyes, she blushed, remembering herself. What was she thinking? Little Giry the ballerina should not be meddling with the heartbroken and insane Opera Ghost!

No. Tonight she was not Little Giry, she was not the Box keeper's daughter, not one lost in a crowd of ballerinas, no. She was Vivienne. She was Life. And she would not be intimidated by anyone, not even Death

"It is certainly a tomb down here, with your silence." She said.

"I am waiting for you to answer my question, Mademoiselle."

"Of course!" she laughed, and he flinched at the tinkling of joyous sound.

Then she stopped and answered.

"Lady Life would like to dance with Lord Death. It will be dangerous, no doubt, but this sort of experience is what I live for- though some might say it is…to die for!" She smiled wryly, then fixed her gaze on him challengingly. "What say you monsieur? Do you dare to pass a waltz round the ballroom with Vivienne?"

**Author's note: Yes, the "what I live for/to die for" jokity bit was corny, but I just could not resist throwing it in there.**

**Reviews are wonderful- they are the pure notes of Christine, after one has been stuck with Carlotta all day**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: As always, Leroux created the Phantom, while ALW created the appearance of this Meg.**

Erik was intrigued by this interrupting butterfly rather than annoyed. He nodded slowly, then held out his hand. His ungloved, bone-dry dead hand. He half-expected her to cringe away, or shudder at his touch.

She did neither.

Rather, he found her too close. Flowers filled the air, but not roses with their smothering scent. It was a light, summertime breezy bloom that intoxicated him. Her lips, with their lighthearted smile, were too willing and close to his, her waist pressed at his hand and her gloved fingers curled around his was- too much, too close, too soon, oh so soon…

"Whatever will we do for music?" she murmured. Her voice snapped him out of his stupor. He tilted his head slightly in question.

"It won't be a requiem we dance to, now will it?" she teased.

"What else?" She blinked in slight surprise as he suddenly whirled her about the room, his bony fingers gripping her waist. He hummed lightly, darkly, an unforgettably sinister tune. He spun her away, but she twirled back to him, her hair flying out slightly behind her and she immediately fell back in step.

Erik noted her grace and nimble feet, but his elegance matched hers.

The clock struck one, and Vivienne stepped back suddenly.

"Is that clock correct?" She gasped, with one hand pressed to the side of her face in surprise. He nodded, watching her reaction with interest.

"I must go, but monsieur-" Vivienne looked at him. "I'll be back."

And she was gone before he could react in any way.

**Review make my day- They are the finishing touches on a dress to the ball.**

-Wince- It was rather short, wasn't it? Ah well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Disclaimer: As always, Leroux created the Phantom, while ALW created the appearance of this Meg.**

They passed night after night in that fashion, though now, he was waiting at the door for her. They met at half 'til midnight, and Vivienne would stay until one, or sometimes half past- sometimes even longer!

Not that they always danced. Sometimes he'd lead her to another, different room, and they'd sit down and talk. She was an intelligent woman, and provided him with a distraction from his miserable thoughts of Christine. The lively, witty faerie that flitted about his home was a light in his dark existence, and Erik looked forward to the visits, his night meetings with the mysterious Vivienne. But there was one particularly tense night, when things were said, things that perhaps, should not have been mentioned.

"_They say that you are Death himself. A living corpse? I've heard the terrified whispers- that the Death's Head you displayed at the masked ball was in fact, your own face. Is it true, monsieur? I must know!"_

_Her red lips pursed with a mocking disdain, and her head cocked to one side as her thick-lashed eyes glinted imperiously at him. Erik was still. _

_"Perhaps not…monsieur, I must confess that I am very disappointed! You aren't Lord Death at all! I really should leave then, after all…but you'll see me off?" _

_He walked after her silently. She waited, so desperate for him to confirm or deny this claim, to allow or shatter their fantasy. If only he would admit that he was a man, she could tell him of her other self, the girl who lived and breathed and danced above ground- she could become real to him as well, not the fantastical Vivienne she pretended to be. Truthfully, she tired of this illusion. Still, if he declared himself to be Death, she would be content to continue in this dream, in this beautiful game that they played at._

_When he didn't respond, she curtseyed rather stiffly at the threshold, and he nodded to her as he shut the door. That time, she stayed away longer, for two days, before returning on the third night. _

But now, it was their anniversary. Meg smiled at the reflection in the mirror as she set on her mask. She always switched the dresses, determined to never wear the same one twice. She'd set about the next day, re-trimming the gowns, or switching out ribbons, until it looked new. There was no shortage of masks backstage, and it wasn't difficult for her to find excuses to be back there alone. She touched them up, repainting or sometimes adding her own designs. It had been a month tonight since she had first taken on Vivienne as her other-self, since she had been daring enough to befriend the Opera Ghost.

He was dressed impeccably as always when she saw him, but something just seemed special. It could very well have been all in her head, but she almost sensed a warmth in his welcome. Usually he was cold and silent until they were inside and dancing or speaking in passionate conversation.

They sat inside, and he went immediately to his organ.

She raised her eyebrows, and inclined her head expectantly.

"What's this?"

"A song. A new song."

"Did I inspire you?" She asked with a delighted smile.

And he turned to play.

**Author's note: Poor Meg, longing to be part of his world…..-begins humming from the little mermaid and looks up Nick Pitera on youtube because that's my fave rendition of it-**

**Reviews are grand- they are the glittering jewels of a chandelier, completing the splendor of a room.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

**Disclaimer: As always, Leroux created the Phantom, while ALW created the appearance of this Meg.**

But all at once, the song was over- broken, really. A spasm of coughing gripped him at the chest, and he broke away from the keys, bent painfully over as he shook.

She froze, her hand stretched towards him but not far enough to touch him.

And then- she wasn't Vivienne anymore; she was only Meg, only the little ballerina who didn't really know what she was doing down here, visiting the Opera Ghost and interfering with his death- he was a madman, a murderer, and an sickly one at that! She should be upstairs, in bed at this hour! Oh, what had she been thinking?

Then Vivienne took hold and it was Vivienne who moved to his side, placing one hand at his back and her other hand on his shoulder. He jerked in an attempt to shake her off, but she ignored this. A deep rattling sound came from his throat as he took a breath.

"Leave!" he rasped, and tried to continue, but a wracking cough broke his words. Vivienne supported him and pushed him into a chair, and quickly offered a handkerchief she whipped out from her bodice. I t was a soft, clean grey, and she handed it to him wordlessly. He pressed it to his mouth and turned away from her, one dead hand clutching at his heaving chest. All was still for several minutes as he gave a few small hacking noises, but then, even those stopped.

"I think it would be best if you go now."

She nodded and bobbed a quick courtesy before striding to the door, but stopped to turn back at him.

"Monsieur, I'd still like to come back-"

"No."

Vivienne glared at him.

"Monsieur, if you'll kindly excuse me, but I will not be deterred. I have had a lovely time this past month, and I'd like to come again tomorrow."

"Mademoiselle, this foolish game was entertaining while it lasted, but I fear it must end…you shall not come again!"

"Will you be the one to stop me?" she snapped. The ailing man studied her with weary eyes, all at once exhausted and weak looking. She sighed.

"No one can stop me- I am Lady Vivienne! Life will grow, will always thrive in spite of the death and decay around her…and I will be back tomorrow."

Vivienne paused, then raised one finger at him threateningly.

"And you will not deny me entry."

And she was gone.

**Author's note: OH NO!! He's not feeling well…**

**Reviews are exceptionally pleasant- they are the mask to my masquerade costume.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Author's Note/ Apology- There is really no excuse for me taking so long with this chapter…and there's nothing to but- I'm sorry?**

**Disclaimer: As always, Leroux created the Phantom, while ALW created the appearance of this Meg.**

She had been with him for three days without going above. Meg had told her mother that she was staying with a friend who had taken ill, because in a way, she was. She brought teas and draughts, more handkerchiefs and Vivienne's spirit.

Meg was nearly lost, drowning in this headstrong woman she had created.

And now he was refusing to leave his coffin.

"I have no patience for this!" Vivienne snapped angrily, and she threw up her hands. "I refuse to help a man who will not make any effort to save himself!"

"Lady Life?" he whispered hoarsely, his tone skeptical. "Life is beautiful and good…she is a generous, giving woman, a nurturing, kind spirit by nature."

"Nonsense! She is cruel, crueler than you Sir Death, for she is pitiless and will not relinquish her victims to the sweet peace and oblivion that you offer to them."

Vivienne's voice was cold, but he almost detected a look of worry in her eyes when she felt his forehead again and checked over his face. He hadn't planned on it, but his grip of death, his cold hand, shot up to take her wrist. She let out a cry of surprise, but didn't struggle when his other hand came to touch her masked face. Vivienne's blue eyes fluttered shut when his fingers drifted over her faded red lips which tightened, and he saw her throat quiver as she swallowed a sob. Erik watched in silent awe as a tear slipped out from under her thick, light lashes. The saltwater crept out in a small stream, dragging a stain of dark eyeliner, right beneath a line of fine blonde hairs that swept in a denser row to be her eyelashes.

Blonde hairs?

His eyes widened and suddenly, he was noticing things, noticing things that he hadn't noticed, or hadn't wanted to see, before. How had she known where to find him? Her mother must have told her. And there!- almost an inch of undyed, light blonde hair had grown out at her temples into the lank curls, and now he remembered how she would sometimes slip onto her toes when they danced, her foot stretching out to balance on pointe. He saw her grace, but never made the connection to the small similarities to the little dancer he had occasionally seen above, the daughter of his faithful Box keeper- Meg Giry…

Erik froze in horror. His grip tightened on her face, tightly, his nails digging into her flesh just as he had forced a young girl to tear into his own face in a very similar way, months ago…but now was no time to think of Christine!

Her eyes shot open in pain and confusion. His voiced was laced with an icy, cruel venom.

"Vivienne?"

**Reviews are ever welcome- they are the 20,000 francs in the Ghost's Box….if the cash makes him happy, I guess that analogy works. ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**Disclaimer- HURRAY!! All my friends and family pitched in and purchased me the rights to Phantom of the Opera so I don't have to do this silly disclaimer any more….**

**Just kidding. Nearly had you there, didn't I? Probably not. Anyways, Leroux created the Phantom, while ALW created the appearance of this Meg.**

Meg stepped back, frightened. She slapped away his hand as it reached for her face.

"Stop!" she whispered shrilly, turning away. He stepped from his coffin, calling out his cruel words to her trembling back.

"Vivienne- the Lively One!"

"Don't _mock_ me sir!" Meg cried. She was fearful of his rising temper.

He had caught her in an instant of weakness. The strength of Vivienne had left in a brief moment as Meg's fear and despair overtook her. Her concern for Erik had overwhelmed her, but then his touch so light on her face- her guard was shattered and now his sudden attack left her reeling.

She tried for a defense, but her voice was weak.

"You have no right to speak to me so- after all I've done for you-"

"All you've _done_ for me! You've trespassed my home time and time again-"

"You let me in! I thought you enjoyed my company!" Meg shrieked, tears beginning to fall freely. Her back was still to him, and one of her hands went out to clutch the piano's edge for support. She groped desperately for a shred of the fiery Vivienne but nothing remained but her own trembling self.

"Enjoyed your company_- your company?_" He scornfully said, stepping closer to her. "I'm afraid that your company was only second best, as always."

"What do you mean?" Meg asked quietly, slowly turning to face him. Erik was right in front of her, speaking the words he knew would wound her.

"Just what I said- always second best. No one notices the quiet ballerina, lost in a group, especially when your best friend- your rival for attention!- is the leading star. Isn't that right-"

He snatched her mask away, and Meg let out a cry as her tear-streaked face was revealed.

"-Meg Giry?"

She let out a choked sob and brought her hands up to cover her face, but Erik stepped closer to her, and with a menacing growl, pinned her arms to her sides.

All of his heartbreak, his bitter resentment and burning fury, came at him in a rush of torn and raw emotion.

She twisted away in terror, her face childlike in its fear despite the smudged makeup that stained her worn face. But she never heard what he was about to say, because at that moment, his arms went weak and he fell back, gasping for breath as he coughed.

Meg pushed away from him and hovered over the piano bench, bent over, clutching her chest. After a few sobs, she wiped away her tears and straightened up.

She was not Vivienne, spirited and bold. She was not Christine, star of the opera house, now Vicomtess de Chagny, the woman who had scorned the notorious Opera Ghost. She was Meg, Little Giry, but she had come so far… and she certainly wasn't giving up now.

Meg turned to him, back straight and her face suddenly calm. She placed a supporting hand under his elbow and led him back to his funereal bed.

"Sir, I may only be little Meg Giry, but I am here and I won't leave until you are quite recovered. You should rest now."

**As always, Reviews are gratefully received. They are the well-executed **_**swishswish**_** of the Phantom's cape.**


	8. Chapter 8

** Chapter 8**

**It's been months, hasn't it? -Cringe- _Six_ months… oh dear. My apologies to any readers I might have left. I have this chapter and 2 unfinished sentences for the next, but my little light bulb for this story is flickering… hopefully it will return with a brilliant glow, but we'll see… :(**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. As always, Leroux created the Phantom while ALW created the appearance for this Meg.**

She left after that, though not right away.

Even after their fight- that painful confrontation- she stayed to care for him. The days passed, uncomfortable and quiet, broken only by her small voice.

"More tea?"

"I'm sorry- did I interrupt your nap?"

"You look well- better, at least."

Once there was a quarrel- just a small one, really.

"Why bother with the façade?"

She looked up at him, startled by the sound of his voice, then looked back down at her small piece of embroidery. It was ridiculous really, the patch of yellow and orange flowers on her bit of cloth, but there was not much to do to pass the time as she waited for the kettle to boil, or for the soup to heat, or for him to wake from his sleep.

"I'm sorry?"

He blinked at her a moment. His gaze was scornful, then he looked away.

"The mask- why do you bother to wear it? I know who you are, and I've seen your face."

She sighed, straightening her back and tucking a loose bit of hair behind her ear. The red was nearly completely faded out but she made no attempt to dye it back. Did it matter, now?

"I, too, know who you are, and I've seen what lies beneath your mask. However, I respect your decision to wear it because that's how you prefer it."

He leaned up in bed, moving quickly. His voice was sharp. "But when- when did you-"

She shrugged lightly.

"You were resting, but having a nightmare, so to make you more comfortable, I removed it."

"You had no right to!"

Indignant, bordering on rage.

"You quieted, so I supposed that you were fine with it."

"I was _unconscious_. I had no say in the matter."

"Be that as it may, I saw your face."

He quieted, not meeting her eyes. Meg continued with her needle, carefully poking the thread through the fabric, making little stitches. She didn't speak again until Erik cleared his throat.

"…and?"

She looked at him blankly for a moment, then shrugged again, with a small smile.

"It really wasn't that bad."

"_Wasn't…that…bad?"_

He looked stricken, and fell back upon his pillows. Meg regarded him a moment, then added.

"Of course, I was prepared for what was coming, unlike her… and now that I've gotten to know you, the appearance doesn't really matter."

He scoffed, and she glared at him.

"It really doesn't matter."

"Oh, of course not." His voice was contemptuous.

"Do you doubt my sincerity?"

He didn't respond, so she returned to her needlework. The next time she looked up, he was asleep.

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**-Sigh- Less than impressive, I know.... Sorry again, guys! :( I'll try working on this again. Dust it off and shake it out, pray to the Muses- you know the routine.**


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